Page 3 of Sparking Sara

I run back to the rig and get it, thinking it’s just our luck the rear window was the only window that didn’t shatter.

Nolan climbs up into the trunk. “I can’t see any backseat passengers. We’re clear to break the glass.”

Once the glass is gone, he squeezes into the back seat and assesses the victims, then comes back out.

“The driver’s in bad shape—I can barely feel a pulse. I don’t see how we can get either one out through the back, because the sides are smashed in, pinning them to their seats. We need to try and turn the vehicle to access from the driver’s side.”

“Can’t we just winch it back completely and pull it off the edge?” I ask.

The lieutenant shakes his head. “It’s in there pretty good, and if we pull it back, we risk rupturing the fuel line. It’s stabilized where it is. Let’s try and pivot around to the right, enough to get access to the driver.”

“What about the passenger?” I ask.

“Possible head injury,” Nolan says. “Can’t get a good look at her. Get in there with a collar and keep her covered while we cut the driver out.”

I look back at the paramedics. “Shouldn’t they be the ones to do this?”

“Get your head out of your ass, Andrews,” he says. “Paramedics aren’t trained for this shit. Get your ass in there and try not to fucking puke on someone.”

I grab a blanket and a collar and take a few deep breaths before I crawl through the back window, shaking the entire time.

I take one look at the driver, whose head is mangled and twisted in my direction, and I get the feeling they’re doing a recovery, not a rescue. But we can’t be sure, and we have to rescue the most critical case first. I hold back the bile rising in my throat and focus my attention on the passenger. I can’t fully see her because I’m behind her, but she’s still screaming.

“Miss, I’m here.”

Her hand comes up, flailing around as if to try and grab on to me. I offer her my hand. She holds on to it like she thinks she’s about to topple over the side of the bridge.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “We’ve secured the car. You’re not going over. Please don’t move your head.”

I try to take my hand back so I can slip the collar around her neck, but she won’t let go.

“Miss, I need my hand for just a second. I have to put a cervical collar on you to protect your neck.”

She still won’t let go.

“I promise to give you my hand back. Please let me help you. I need to keep your neck stable.”

I feel her hand reluctantly release mine and I quickly slip the collar behind her head and secure it. Then I keep my promise and put my hand back in hers.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

She’s squirming around, trying to free herself.

“Can you move your legs?”

“I—I think so.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“Oh, my God!” she screams bloody murder when the car shifts sideways.

“It’s okay,” I tell her. “They have to move the car a bit to get to your friend.”

“Friend?”

“What’s her name?” I ask.

“I … I … What happened?”

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